


Drabble Challenge

by bonesmctightass



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Debauchery, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Night Terrors, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 04:18:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14992595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonesmctightass/pseuds/bonesmctightass
Summary: Submissions for the Tumblr Drabble Challenge!





	1. Chapter 1

Sulu would be hard pressed to find a better bonding activity than the brand of debauchery that only a good shore leave can provide. The bridge crew were seated around a table trying new drinks and basking in that famed Risan hospitality. 

Directly to Sulu’s left was Chekov, who's inexperience in heavy drinking was becoming increasingly obvious as the night wore on. Sulu was feeling a bit drunk himself, so he could only imagine how Chekov was faring.

“I believe Ensign Chekov has had enough, Captain.” Spock commented in that fatherly way of his. “Surely this amount of alcohol consumption will damage his much needed brain cells.”

“At ease, Commander.” Jim chuckled good naturedly. “We've all missed our mouths at one time or another. No harm done”

Even if Sulu hadn't been facing them he'd swear he could hear Spock's eyebrow raising.

“What d’ya mean? The kid's slurping a slushie. Don't see how he could drink himself under a table with that juvenile concoction.”

McCoy was, of course, referring to the frozen margarita that Chekov was making quick work of. Apparently that brought him out of his stupor.

“Hey!” Chekov slurred. “Slushies are not just for children.” He gestured to the bar meaningfully, all the while leaning more and more into Sulu’s space.

Then Chekov shouted ‘fuck society' so loud that Sulu startled and knocked his drink right off the table. 

“Respectfully, sirs, if you don't send him back to the hotel I'll be more than happy to do it myself.” Sulu grumbled, mourning the loss of his blue alcoholic something or other. 

“But dad,” Chekov whined pitifully, “I do not want to go to bed! I am fine!” In an attempt to prove his sobriety, Chekov stood and made towards the bar, presumably to get himself another drink.

And promptly fell into Sulu, sending them both toppling to the floor.

“Okay. Maybe he's had enough.” Jim agreed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy is scared. Jim helps.

This is a bad idea. So horribly, undeniably, catastrophically disastrous. The worst idea Jim Kirk has ever had.

“Complete the flight track, Jim said.” McCoy grumbles mockingly, shaking hands trying and failing to do up the flight uniform. 

“You can be acting captain in emergencies, Jim said.” He's got the shakes so goddamn bad he keeps missing the zipper catch. Obviously, he's nowhere near drunk enough for a practice run. Certification be damned. “Idiot. Stupid, dumb idiot.”

“I can hear you.” Jim says, wearing that ridiculous pout of his and crossing his arms childishly.

The hovercraft looks massive on the hangar deck. It stands, lonely, waiting for McCoy to board and get hopelessly, devastatingly lost in space. Or crash into an academic building. Or get blown out of the sky by some horrifying unknown intergalactic threat. McCoy swallows thickly. 

“Nope.” He says, resolute. “Absolutely not.”

McCoy turns on his heel, about to begin his trek back to the dormitory when Jim grabs his collar and stops him in his tracks.

“Hold it right there, Bones. You are getting on that ship or so help me.” 

For a long moment McCoy just stares, glancing between this perfect fucking blonde jackass and the uncertain death that undoubtedly resides on the bridge of the ship. Then, shaking his head, McCoy jerks out of Jim's hold and breaks out into a run out of the hangar.

Not the most dignified of exits. 

He can hear Jim's heavy footfalls behind him, right on his tail and gaining. McCoy comes to a stop at the quad and doubles over, hands clutching his knees and struggling to fill his lungs with air. 

“Bones, come on. You'll never get over this fear you have if you don't face it head on.” He hears Jim say. Then a firm hand comes to lay on McCoy's shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. 

“It'll be okay. Perfectly safe. I'll be right there with you, I'll help you. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise. Really, Bones, have I ever lied to you?”

At this point McCoy stands to his full height and shoots a glare over his shoulder. “You can't possibly promise me that.” He says, much harsher than he means.

Jim deflates a little and McCoy feels a searing stab of guilt pierce his heart. 

“Sorry,” McCoy grunts quietly. “Fine. Fine, I'll do it. But so help me, Jim Kirk, if something happens to me up there I will haunt you in the afterlife.”

Pleased with that, Jim nods eagerly and takes McCoy's hand to lead him back. Why did he have to fall in love with such a reckless optimistic moron? 

Because, the little voice in McCoy's head says, he's everything you're not. And you need him like you need air.

They make it back to the hangar and McCoy is, somehow, sitting stiffly at the helm with Jim to his left. 

“Okay, now just do what you did in the flight simulator. You remember, right?” Jim says encouragingly. “You got the highest score in your class, if I recall. This'll be the same thing. You'll do great, Bones.” 

“Shut up, Jim. Just shut up and let me concentrate.” McCoy says, well aware of how strained his voice sounds but without the wherewithal to do anything about it.

He remembers this part well enough. Getting the ship going isn't the problem. Leaving the hangar and ascending to cruising altitude isn't even what makes McCoy's blood turn to ice. They get in the air just fine. It's the staying afloat that matters.

McCoy's gripping the console so hard his knuckles are going white. So far everything is fine. 

Until the cabin starts to shudder and jolt.

“It’s turbulence. It's normal, Bones. Just crossing over those jet streams is all. Totally fine.”

Except it's not fine. Nothing is fine. Nothing ever has been or will ever be fine. McCoy has tunnel vision and he can't remember how to breathe and he's trembling. 

“I can't do this. I can't do this, I need to get down, I can't—.” McCoy can feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jim must've engaged the auto pilot because he's out of his seat and pulling McCoy's hands away from the controls. 

“Bones. Hey. Listen to me, Bones.” 

But he's not listening. Jim is saying something and McCoy can't hear a word of it. All he can think about is ‘I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'mgoingtodie, I'mabouttodie, helpme——’

Then a solid weight settles on his lap and a gentle softness caresses his face. McCoy blinks hard and Jim comes back into focus, sitting there on his lap, filling his vision, looking all kinds of ethereal with the sun at his back through the windshield.

“You are okay.” Jim says firmly, staring him hard in the eyes.

“I am okay.” McCoy repeats slowly, without thought. 

“You are okay and you are going to get us back down safely.”

McCoy nods. 

And he does.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCoy forgets he's in public.

Vulcans are gorgeous. More beautiful than any living creature has any right to be, really. God, Spock looks positively divine. All long lines and lean muscle with that honey thick, syrupy sweet baritone voice that coats McCoy's heart like the red candy shell on an apple at a Georgia State Fair. 

“Leonard.”

It's insane how gone on this perfect specimen of a man McCoy really is. So gone, in fact, that he doesn't even hear when Spock calls his name. He's way too engrossed in the way the shell of Spock's ears elegantly curve up into a point. 

“Leonard.”

Oh, and the way Spock's lovely olive skin colors into a deep shade of green when he's consumed by a certain emotion he insists he doesn't feel is enough to send McCoy's soul into another plane of existence—

“Leonard.”

It is at this point that McCoy realizes he's reached out to stroke along the side of Spock's face, personal space be damned. His hands always did have a mind of their own.

“It seems I have lost you to your thoughts.” 

Reality can be a cruel mistress. McCoy suddenly remembers that they are seated in the mess and he is supposed to be listening to Spock go on about something or other. Whatever business they had, McCoy can't even begin to recall. Damn, that alluring flush on those absurdly handsome cheekbones is attractive. 

Spock catches McCoy's wrist and proceeds to press a delicate kiss to his palm. It's downright paralyzing.

“I believe we have become the clingy couple you so often complained about.” Spock says with a smile. Every time McCoy is blessed with such a simple gesture it's like seeing it for the first time.

“Me? Complain?” McCoy says, feigning outrage. “Doesn't sound like me at all.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last straw.

McCoy knew the second he opened the door to the apartment that he was about to enter the gates of hell and suffer in ways he had never suffered before. This little drinking problem landed him in quite a bit of trouble over the years, but nothing like this. 

Last night he woke up face down on the front lawn of a house he didn't recognize. He didn't know what he'd done, didn't know how long he'd been out. Couldn’t remember if he forgot his address again and slurred out a random street name to the Uber driver, or if he'd gone home with someone, or wandered out alone.

It was bad. This was bad. Whatever Jim was going to do to him, he deserved every bit of it. In spite of himself, he persisted and mentally prepared for whatever unpleasantness was about to unfold. 

Yelling, hitting, maybe throwing a book or two. Those were things he'd expected. Things Jim had done before. What McCoy didn't see coming was the sight of Jim packing his bags. When he pushed open the door, Jim didn't even look at him. McCoy felt his heart shatter and splinter into his lungs. 

“I know I messed up,” he starts to say, but Jim is having none of it. Abruptly, Jim turns and slams the padd he’s holding down onto the bedside table so hard that it snaps clean in half.

“Don't you dare.” Jim seethes. “No. You don't get to drink yourself stupid and not come home for two days, then show up here like there wasn't gonna be any consequences.” 

Two days? McCoy thinks distantly. Has it really been two days?

“I've had it.” 

Jim isn't shouting. McCoy wishes he would. This cold indifference icing up Jim's usual sunny disposition is far worse than anything McCoy could have imagined. He knows he deserves this.

“I'm done with you, Bones. I'm not doing this anymore.”

I'm done. Jim said he's done. And McCoy finally breaks. 

He sinks to his knees and rests his forehead at Jim's feet. McCoy's outright sobbing. He knows he's done this to himself. But he can't bear to lose Jim. Death would be a better alternative. He can't accept this.

“Jim, please. Please don't leave me. I'll be better. I'll go to the meetings. I'll go to therapy. I'll do anything you want me to do. Please, Jim, I can't live without you. Jim—”

With a heavy sigh, Jim kneels and cradles McCoy's face in his hands. McCoy stares, unblinking through the wetness in his eyes to take in the somber expression on Jim's face. 

Those eyes. It's so easy to get lost in those eyes. They see right through McCoy, right into his soul, down into his deepest, scariest, most depraved parts. Even in sadness, Jim is beautiful. Precious. He can do so much better than a washed up Starfleet surgeon who lost the use of his hands in a battle on a hostile planet he had no business being on. 

But McCoy is so, so selfish.

“Bones, listen to me.” Jim says, and McCoy listens. He listens because his very existence depends upon it. “I'm not going to spend any more time worrying about where you are or if you're safe. I just do not have it in me anymore. I can't do it.” 

McCoy nods, accepting that truth.

“So I'm going to say this once, and only once. The next time you walk out of that door to get lost at the bottom of a bottle, don't expect me to be here when you decide to come home. If you love me at all, you'll stop doing this to yourself.” 

Encouraged at what seems to be a precious second chance, McCoy rears up and tries to reach for Jim's face but he stands at the last second, agonizingly out of arm's length. McCoy settles for fisting his hands in Jim's shirt and sobbing into his stomach. 

“Jim, I'm so so—”

“Don't.” Jim interrupts, sounding devastatingly detached.

“Don't apologize if you don't mean it.” 

But McCoy means it. He means it with every fiber of his being. Everything that he is. He means it so much that he's willing to do whatever it takes to keep Jim from walking out.

“I'm sorry.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a bully.

The shower was nice. Really nice. Did wonders for the aches and pains in Jim's body, beaten into him by that goddamn upperclassman who's hell-bent on putting him in an early grave. Jim's been in the bathroom for well over an hour now and he knows he’ll have to face the music one way or another. 

A loud knock sounds at the locked door followed by a concerned voice.

“Darlin’. Jim. Come on. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong.” McCoy says, warm and gentle and all kinds of perfect. Of course he knows. Always knows.

Jim sighs heavily, resting his forehead on the cold tile as the water beats down on his back. It's gone cold and he'll probably get hypothermia if he doesn't get dry. 

Fuck.

“I'm coming.” He calls, fairly proud of himself for not sounding at all like he was just crying his eyes out five minutes ago.

He shuts the water off. 

“But you have to go away. Least until I get dressed.” Jim says resolutely. He can't bear the pitiful look Bones gives him when he's been on the business end of a closed fist. Not tonight. 

“Jim—” McCoy starts but doesn't get to finish.

“Please.” 

A steady beat of silence passes before Jim hears a frustrated grunt and receding footsteps.

Releasing a breath he hasn't realized he was holding, Jim exits the bathroom and hurriedly dresses himself. The standard issue Academy sweats fit loosely enough, but the hood over his head does nothing to hide the damage to his face.

“Now?” McCoy pleads from the other side of the door to their dormitory after a handful of minutes. 

Slightly panicked, Jim turns to lay himself flat on his stomach. Safely hidden under the blankets of his bed, he gives McCoy the green light. 

Jim hears the door open and slam shut seconds before McCoy's crossed the room. 

“Show me.” McCoy demands.

A firm head shake and a white knuckled grip on the hood of his sweater is McCoy's answer. 

The bed dips suddenly with McCoy's added weight. Jim startles when he feels his hips being straddled and he makes the mistake of turning his head to protest. 

“Who gave you the black eye?” McCoy asks quietly, a lot steadier than he probably feels. 

He already knows the answer. It doesn't need to be said. 

Jim deflates, lets McCoy pull the hood from his head. 

“Oh, Jim.” McCoy sighs. “Come on. Let me look at you.” He rears up on his knees and bids Jim to turn over. Jim does without a fuss.

Big calloused hands come up to cradle Jim's mottled face, careful to avoid the tender area around his left eye as he inspects the damage. 

“I don't know why you won't let me lay him out.” McCoy says, suddenly angry. “You say the word and it's done, Jim. Let me get my hands on this Finnegan and hypo him into the next millennium. I swear on my mama he won't be a problem for you anymore.”

Jim manages a weak smile and pulls McCoy down for a tender kiss. “Sorry, Bones. But I can't let you get kicked out of the program. I'm gonna need you on my ship.”

For a long moment, McCoy simply stares down at him, unblinking. 

“Damn it, Jim.” McCoy says quietly, defeated, hanging his head and fisting the sheets under him. 

“I know something you could do to help.”

McCoy lifts his head so fast Jim's surprised he didn't get whiplash. 

“Name it,” McCoy says with determination in his beautiful eyes. “Anything.”

Jim reaches up to wind his arms around McCoy's shoulders. 

“Kiss me everywhere it hurts.”

Instantly, McCoy goes soft.

“Yeah.” He says. “Yeah, I can do that.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has night terrors.

They're standing in a room. It has no doors and no windows. Jim can't see anything but he knows he's not alone. And he knows this place. He wants to find a corner to back himself into but he also knows he can't move. Still he tries. His limbs are like lead. He stands stiffly, seen but unseeing. 

 

Gradually a light begins to illuminate him. Jim attempts to shrink back from it but he stays rooted to the spot. He would rather be in the dark. Whatever is out there looking at him can see him clearly now. He feels exposed. 

 

And afraid. 

 

There is a table beside him. On the table rests a clock. The digital numbers read 1:00. The room seems to stretch and grow. The darkness reaches out to him, tries to grab and swallow him up. Now the other end of the room is lighting up. Jim's heart sinks. 

 

Spock and McCoy are standing there. They don't move or speak or really look at Jim at all. Beside them are figures Jim can't quite see. But he can see what they're holding. Pressed to each of their temples is the barrel of a gun. Old models. Something out of a Western, like in the holovids Bones likes to watch. The bullets click into their chambers.

 

_ Only one of them can live.  _

 

The clock beside Jim begins to count down just as Spock and McCoy spring to life. 

 

“Pick me, Jim. You have to pick me!” McCoy yells. 

 

“Do not let me die, Jim, please.” Spock urges. He looks afraid. 

 

“Don't do this to me, Jim, save me. Save  _ me _ !” McCoy starts to cry. 

 

“Jim, I don't want to die.” Spock is pleading with his eyes. 

 

_ 45 seconds.  _

 

“Jim, Jim, we're best friends. You knew me first. Why should he get to live? Don't you love me?” McCoy drops to his knees. 

 

Spock reaches out to him. “No, Jim. Do not listen to him. We were made for each other, do not throw me away!”

 

_ 30 seconds.  _

 

Jim looks between them, tears falling heavy on his face. He knows he can't choose. “Don't make me do this.” He whispers. “I can't. I can't!” Jim struggles against his invisible bonds. He begs the entities to turn on him, kill him instead. But they don't look at him. Maybe they can't hear him. 

 

_ 10 seconds.  _

 

Next he tries to break the clock. Spock and McCoy are still screaming at him desperately. He tries to smash it but it won't break. He knew it wouldn’t. 

 

_ 5 seconds.  _

 

Jim can't choose. And he knows what will happen next. The timer goes off. 

 

And so do the triggers. 

_________

 

Jim wakes in a cold sweat. The sounds of screaming deafens his ears. 

 

“Wake up, Jim. Wake up. It's okay. Just a nightmare, it's okay.” A voice whispers frantically in his ear. It's a voice he recognizes. Bones. He realizes now that the screaming is coming from him. “You're okay, now. We've got you. You're okay.” A steady pressure against his middle tells Jim that he is in Spock's arms. 

 

_ It wasn't real.  _

 

Awash with relief, Jim sags against Spock's chest. They're still here. 

 

“You have been having night terrors with alarming frequency.” Spock says against his temple. “Tell us what is bothering you.” 

 

Jim trembles, tears staining his cheeks. They've had this discussion before. He knows what they'll say. “It's nothing. No need to worry.” His voice is cracked and broken. Unrecognizable. 

 

“Oh, Jim. Don't shut us out. Not now.” McCoy is pressed in close to Jim's side. His hands are rubbing soothing circles into Jim's stomach.

 

For a long moment Jim says nothing. Then, finally, “Do you love me?” 

 

“Of course we do.” 

 

They speak in unison without hesitation. An obvious answer to a question that need not have been asked.

 

“Do you love each other?” Jim ventures cautiously. In the darkness he can just make out the way they exchange glances over his shoulder.

 

“What's this about?” McCoy insists.  

 

Jim shakes his head. “Forget it.” This is fruitless, he knows. If they don't love each other, eventually they will drift apart. And Jim  _ will _ have to choose between them. 

 

“Jim.” Spock starts. 

 

Whatever he is going to say gets cut off by McCoy. “Jim, the way Spock and I feel about each other is… well it's complicated, okay? I mean, it's different than the way we feel about you.” 

 

“What Leonard is trying to say,” Spock interrupts, “is that we share a bond of a different kind. Our love for you is strong. A thing to be nurtured and cared for, ever present and always growing. Leonard and I, our feelings for one another burn hot and quickly. It is passionate and dangerous. At times there is a certain tenderness, but others there is conflict.” 

 

“I'd say that hits the nail on the head.” McCoy affirms. 

 

Jim can't decide if he feels better or worse. The answer is clear, and yet so very cryptic. 

 

The ever diligent doctor has no trouble noticing. “We're saying we love each other. We just express it differently.” To prove himself, McCoy leans over and presses a kiss to Spock's lips. “We love each other. And we love you.”

 

Accepting that, Jim simply sighs “All right, then.” 

 

He sinks into the safety of his lovers’ arms and forces his eyes shut again. 


End file.
